


Maybe You’re Not The Worst Thing Ever

by joufancyhuh



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: After High Noon, Biotic Ryder, F/M, Headstrong Ryder, kinda angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 11:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: It's nice to realizeMaybe I shouldn't quite say neverMaybe you're not the worst thing ever





	Maybe You’re Not The Worst Thing Ever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lady_inthebluebox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_inthebluebox/gifts).



> Special thanks to [AlyssAlenko](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alyssalenko) for her help with this fic and title. 
> 
> You can blame me rewatching Batman: The Animated Series for Ryder's name. Also, I love the idea of a super tall Amazon Ryder who kinda towers over Reyes. 
> 
> And oh yeah, happy holidays to the beautiful and wonderful Lady <3 Your friendship has been a highlight of this year.

“He’s soft on you.”

Ryder ignores the statement as she focuses her energy into a nova, explosions echoing around her in a symphony of chaos. She bites into her lip, pushing past the burn of her lungs and muscles as she slams her asari sword down into the back of a raider, a cry of pain muffled under the helmet.

“I think you’re a little soft on him, too.”

Ryder jumps up, foot dropping down in a heavy kick, snapping the agent’s vertebrae with a loud crack. She launches off the falling body, jets powering her toward a sharpshooter taking aim at Peebee.

“No one’s ever accused me of being soft.”

Vetra chuckles into the mic as the pop of her gun goes off, another Raider’s brains exploding in the distance. “First time for everything, I suppose.”

Ryder’s blade connects with the throat of her target, ripping through him with a force that knocks his head meters away from his body. Her boots hit ground as she takes off in a sprint, gathering the energy around her for a pull on their last target, a “No fair!” popping up from Peebee as she chases after the final bad guy.

Ryder smirks under her helmet as her pull turned into a throw, launching the unfortunate soul who tried to mess with the Pathfinder’s team over a mountain. Peebee huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “That should’ve been my kill.”

Ryder shrugs, attempting to bring herself back to her typical air of nonchalance. “Blame Vetra. She shouldn’t have called me soft.”

Peebee’s glare turns toward the turian who cracks her back as she stands upright from behind a crate. “It really pissed you off, didn’t it? The insinuation that you might actually have feelings for him.”

“I _do not_ have feelings for that stupid smuggler, “Ryder growls, kicking some dirt in Vetra’s direction.

“Stupid, _handsome_ smuggler,” Peebee corrects as she kneels down by one of the fallen, searching their pockets for creds or anything of interest to take with them. “There’s no denying that.”

“Take him then, he’s all yours.” Ryder checks over her weapons before reholstering them at her side. Damn them for riding her on this. It’s an issue she’d sooner see dropped, not wanting to even think about his dumb face and the way it emerged from the shadows in Draulir. Everyone has their secrets, but most of the time, those secrets don’t end up in an Old West style duel for power in the backwater parts of the planet.

She dreads their meeting later, the first since she walked away. _I liked the way you looked at me_.

“14!” Peebee’s cheering breaks Ryder from her thoughts, back to the present of the scorched battlefield. “I think I won this time.”

Vetra shakes her head as she rejoins them. “Ryder decimated us. I think we made her angry.”

“I’m just tired of being on Kadara.” She motions toward the Nomad. “Can we go now or are you two not finished clucking like old hens?”

“We’re not Earth birds, Ryder.” Vetra follows after tugging on Peebee to come.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ryder jumps into the Nomad, tossing her helmet toward the back before taking her seat behind the wheel. “Fuck, I hate Kadara. The stench of it takes five showers to get off.”

Vetra clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth as she boards, Peebee at her heels. “I admit, the stench isn’t the most pleasant, but it beats Voeld.”

“I’d rather have Voeld.” Ryder guns the engine as soon as the doors shut, not waiting for her companions to sit down. They stumble around in the back, searching for holds to keep them steady.

The port looms in the distance, a dark sigil on the plight of Kadara. Yes, she chose, and she put her… whatever he was at that time in charge, and yes, good came from it, a slow spread of smiles across the lips of Kadarans everywhere, a noticeable difference rom her first arrival. That didn’t mean she appreciated being lied to and used on occasion, especially by that damn smug smuggler.

And now Pathfinder duties forced her back into his path, their meeting to discuss changes with the outpost set for later that evening. Fighting suits her; fighting, she can handle.  Fighting, she’d good at. It strips away any complicated emotions and replaces it with adrenaline; none of this moral grey shit, just right and wrong, your gun or theirs. It doesn’t leave room for second guessing, for pretenders with fake feelings who complicated work and pleasure.

“Slow down, Ryder,” Vetra coaxes from the back, clutching the ceiling handles with all her life. “We’re going to ram into the gate if you don’t.”

Ryder eases off the gas, and almost before she can fully stop the Nomad, she bolts from the vehicle, the air in the cabin suddenly too compact for her to breathe.

An hour. She still has an hour to kill, and it takes most of her willpower to not march up to his private room in Tartaurus and do something stupid, like the screaming match she dreams of since she walked away, shouting her emotions at him so he would finally know how deep this cut.

_He likes you, you know._

_I liked the way you looked at me._

_Is Reyes even your real name?_

And she stormed away, no real answers, no outpost. She gave up on Kadara, on him, and kept away until Tann called with his directive.

_Keema Dohrgun has reached out to us about establishing an outpost on Kadara. Apparently, she’s who they put in charge after the coup. She thinks it would bring a healthy amount of trade to the port, and I’m inclined to agree._

Keema, Reyes’ right hand in this mess. Her meeting is technically with the angaran, but she knows he’ll be there, either at the table or lurking in the shadows. She isn’t sure if Keema’s presence will help for when she sees him again, or if he’ll leave her out entirely. After all, Ryder knows who lies behind the throne of Kadara.

She kills time in the markets, looking over any new weaponry the shops gained in her absence. She finds a new scope and a ship model she can take back to her brother, another decoration for his bedside to greet him when he wakes. And then the hour arrives, dropping a hard pit into her stomach, a feeling of dread washing over her as she steps into the quarters that once belonged to Sloane.

One of the bodyguards escorts her to a private room, a meeting table and chairs set up in a dark room with only light streaming from underneath the blinds. She recognizes the outline of the shadowy figure at the far end of the table, his portrait in darkness familiar enough that she hides the tremble of her hands in her lap as she takes her seat at the opposite end.

“I thought it might be time for us to have a face to face.”

His voice fills her with revulsion, but a warm molasses spreads out from her stomach, battling out control for her emotions. Her anger, so righteous only seconds before, now struggles to stay in the forefront of her mind as her eyes adjust to see his clasped hands in front of his face, the severe expression underneath.

“I heard the Collective needed an outpost.”

She surprises herself by keeping her voice flat, devoid of the internal debate she suffers.

_Is Reyes even your real name?_

_He likes you, you know._

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking the Collective needs anything from the Nexus. We are simply making a peace offering.”

His tone of voice mimics hers, though her heart squeezes to hear it. The last time she heard him, _I liked the way you looked at me,_ the hurt in his voice shone out like a beacon, trying to keep her there with him. But now he is the Charlatan, no longer an old lover who once told her he wanted his own restaurant. This figure in front of her only dreams of power, and will hurt anyone to obtain it.

She needs to remember her place, why she’s there; it’s not for him.

“What are your terms?”

The good of the Nexus. The good of Andromeda.

_And you? Why did you come to Andromeda?_

_To be someone._

_You’re someone to me, Reyes._

“The outpost will need supplies. The port would like to offer our own, for a price, of course.”

_You look like you’re waiting for someone._

“The Nexus will meet any price you put forward. Your next term?”

_You’re one person I’ll happily owe something._

“Protection. Your outpost will need protection, as will the people in this port and beyond. We want a guarantee that all citizens of Kadara will be guarded, not just the outpost. The Nexus likes to protect its investments; I want to make sure that my people aren’t left on the wayside of that protection.”

_Reyes is a better man than you think._

_Oh honey, you’ve no idea how wrong you are. But you will._

“That’s fair enough. Done. Next?”

_This whole time, you’ve been lying to me._

_Not about everything. You know who I really am._

He speaks again, but she doesn’t catch it, lost in her flashback. She shakes herself free of its hold and apologizes. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

He chuckles, a single sound that eases out some of the tension in the room. “Come back to me, Lina.” The sentence comes as a reflex, she knows, but the realization dawns on them both as she freezes in her seat, blood turning to ice.

_“Come back to me, Lina,” he kisses her nose before drawing her closer, rolling into his side as his whiskey-colored eyes draw her back from her daydream, back into his arms. “Where did you go this time, mi amor?”_

_“Just recalling taking down that Architect. You should’ve been there, the battle was glorious!”_

_He laughs before bringing her in for a kiss; she fights for control as she swivels them so that he’s pinned to the bed. When the kiss breaks, she grins, prying each of his hands off her naked frame and pushing them into the bed above his head. “You should know I always win by now.”_

_He stares up from his pillow, hair tousled and lips swollen from their kiss. “Someone help me, I’m in love with a warrior goddess.”_

“I’m sorry.” He pauses before adding, “For everything.”

She wishes for an Architect right then, a giant worm busting through the room, something to tear the conversation away from where it heads. Give her something physical to fight, something her fists can land on.

When Reyes stands and starts toward her, she can’t stop herself. Her right hook connects with his chin as she flies toward him, huffing as she fights for control back over her body.

He rubs his jaw, and she readies herself for a counterattack, but it never comes. Instead, his voice rings through the darkness, “You held out longer than I thought you would.”

She flattens her voice once more. “Let’s finish this meeting. I have business to attend to on Eos.”

His hand brushes against her arm. “Don’t. Don’t block me out again.”

“I’m here on business, Charlatan, so unless we’re done here, I suggest we get on with this. Now, next set of terms.”

His hand stays on her arm. “Selina, _please_. I’d rather you screamed at me than shut me out.”

_You’re not the man I thought you were._

_I wanted to be._

All the words die on her tongue as she gazes down at him through the dark.

_Why didn’t you trust me?_

_I liked the way you looked at me._

It dawns on her why the room is dark, her eyes shadowed from his in their meeting space.

It’s not trust, but she recognizes that not everything that falls from his lips are lies. It’s not trust, but it is a place to start.


End file.
